Sorry
by CityCobra
Summary: Just a story that came over me. Sara left CSI... read to find out. Character death and possible Spoilers for 8x07 oh, and fslash so don't read if you don't like.


**Forget GSR, GSR never existed (at least in this story). Sara left CSI though and Catherine is more or less together with this Chris guy.**

**I don't know if you can say that this story contains spoiler for 8x07... but just in case, be warned.**

**Don't owe them... oh, and enjoy!**

* * *

She steps into the shabby motel room unbuttoning her black shirt. Throwing the shirt into one of the corners of the room and her bag into another. She slumps onto the bed, still in her tank top and jeans, totally exhausted.

The dim neon light of the motel sign flickers through the window with the slashed and yellowed curtains illuminating the room irregularly.

She watches the lights dance on the ceiling while lying on her back thinking that it's almost beautiful if it wasn't for the surroundings. Or maybe it's just because of them.

Closing her eyes shut she begins to let her thoughts wander. The drive to this motel kept her from doing so but now she has nothing left to do than to do so.

She doesn't want to think.

Getting into a sitting position she rubs her tensed neck. She hates these kind of rooms. Shabby, old and dirty motel rooms with stains where no stains should be. And though she hates them and gets a tingling feeling whenever she looks around the room, she's here right now.

Probably because no one really would expect her to be here.

If anyone would even search for her.

But if, no one would come searching for her here. At this place, with the slashed curtains and the big water stain on the ceiling right next to the lamp.

She's too tired to care.

Not even physically.

She was emotionally tired.

Emotionally drained.

And she knew it wasn't just her job that kept sucking the life out of her.

She gets up and makes her way slowly to the bathroom. The light in the bathroom is broken. Only the motel sign illuminates her in strange flickering red neon light while she stares at the reflection of herself in the mirror which has a crack running through it.

She is surprised that it isn't broken already.

She turns on the tap and lets the sink draw in with cold water. After splashing some of the water on her face she supports herself on the sink watching little drops dribble from her nose and chin back into the sink. When she looks back into the mirror she feels the anger overcoming her.

She balls her fist and punches into the mirror sending it into thousand pieces to the floor.

'_It finally broke_.' she thinks to herself.

Just like her.

Sighing she strolls back into the other room. She stops in front of the bed and considers what to do next. She lets her tired eyes wander to her bag and makes her way over to the corner she slumped it in. Sliding with her back down the wall beneath the window she grabs her bag and opens it.

Just before she came here she stopped at a convenience store and bought whiskey, knowing she would need it to stop her from thinking.

From feeling.

When she is about to open the bottle she notices her now bleeding hand. Instinctively she looks back to the bathroom recognizing the blood trace she left. She couldn't care less. The place was a mess already, some blood drops wouldn't make a difference.

Probably the only evidence that something or someone was living in here including herself.

And it was true. She was practically dead. Her eyes showed no emotions anymore. Just a vacant stare that couldn't be interpreted.

She takes a big swallow of the whiskey grimacing when the alcohol burns her throat.

'It will get easier the more I drink', she mumbles to herself staring at the wall in front of her.

Leaning her head against the wall she closes the eyes again for the second time since she came here immediately regretting it.

Tearing her eyes open again she takes another big swallow of the whiskey.

'Stop thinking about her... just stop thinking about her...', she whispers to the room.

Her.

Cahterine.

Her job is draining her. All the death shoved into her face everyday, all the tragedies that she has to witness... though she can't help but think that she's just using her job as an excuse to leave. It was her who was making her life so terribly. The job, all the violence and death had been just the tip of the iceberg.

Her

She is tearing her appart.

So she left.

She left everyone behind.

She had thought about leaving for good many times before but never actually acted upon it. She had thought about the way how she would leave. That she would write a letter, explaining why she couldn't stay, saying sorry. She would have packed necessaries and would've started somewhere new. She never thought she would wind up at some shabby motel drinking herself into numbness.

But that was before she fell in love with her.

So, when she was certain that she needed to leave she tried to write a letter and she tried to explain everything. But what should she have written? That she's in love with her and can't stand being near her anymore? That she couldn't bear the thought of her being happy in the arms of that Chris-guy?

Certainly not.

And she didn't want to lie. So she stuck to the apologizing. She left a sheet of paper simply saying '_Sorry_' on the breakroomtable. She didn't even sign it. She knew they would recognize her handwriting. And that's all she left.

A sheet of paper saying '_Sorry_'

She gets up of the floor making her way over to the bed. Taking a swallow she lies down on her back again, her legs dangling form the bed.

She stifles a yawn.

'_I don't want to sleep, I'll only dream of her_.', she thinks as she taks a swallow again.

Nevertheless her eyes close slowly.

It was a party at the club Chris was managing. First she didn't want to go. It was just not her, the whole clubbing thing. But she got forced by the boys and finally agreed on showing up. She was the last one to show up at the club and everyone was already quite tipsy including Catherine.

She came hugging Sara telling her that she was glad that she came. She remembers thinking she was in the wrong movie.

Catherine glad she came?

The evening turned out to be quite funny. The guys were hilarious when they were drunk. Sara made eye contact with the older woman a few times. Somehow she had the feeling she was watching her. She wasn't with them a lot though. Mostly she was with Chris. He introduced her to some of his doubtful business partners. When Chris got wind up into a conversation with someone looking like a pander Catherine deliberately stood next to the pander-looking guy watching Sara again and she just felt like being watched so she looked her way and caught her watching, causing her to watch away immediately.

She remembers that she left for the rest rooms after that using the need to freshen up a bit as an excuse to be alone for a moment and just when she was about to step out of the rest rooms again Catherine was pushing her back in, dragging her into one of the rest room stalls. Before she could even ask what the hell was going on Catherine had her lips pressed firmly against the ones of the tall brunette.

Sara was shocked to say at least.

She pushed Catherine back against the restroom wall and pulled away from the kiss. She remembers asking her what the hell was going on and having Catherine only smiling sexy as an answer. Catherine pulled Sara flush against her and whispered into her ear that she wanted her. Now.

What she remembers and what she'll probably never forget is that she had taken Catherine against a restroom wall with their friends and Catherine's boyfriend only a few feet away. She remembers Catherine's pleading moans, both of their breathings heavy, Catherine's fingernails raking over her back leaving long scratches...

With that she opened her eyes again.

It was tattooed into her mind.

She would never get rid of her thoughts about her. No alcohol in the world could erase these memories.

She had said that it was a mistake.

She agreed.

After that she practically stopped talking to her.

She was air.

Air she so much needed to breath again.

She takes her bag and slumps it onto the bed. Taking out the scratch pad and a pen she sits back onto the bed and stares into the room.

Looking back onto the scratch pad she began to write.

She laid the scratch pad onto the pillow and takes sleeping pills out of her bag.

'Sorry.', she mumbled once again into the empty room.


End file.
